on the job
by The Dragon Lover
Summary: Really, Alex doesn't know how she manages to get herself into these situations. Last time she leaves bed for a cross-country job offer. On the plus side, this will be a great story for the guys back home. - Written for WriterVerse challenge on LJ, OC-centric. More information on Alex on my FictionPress account.
1. first day on the job

**Title:** first day on the job  
**Prompt:** Piracy & Hero  
**Bonus?** Yes~  
**Word Count:** 686  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Original/Fandom:** Crossover; Fandom: Avengers (movie!verse), Original: Alex the necromancer series  
**Pairings (if any):** N/A  
**Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc):** Profanity  
**Summary:** Really, Alex doesn't know how she manages to get herself into these situations. Last time she leaves bed for a cross-country job offer. On the plus side, this will be a great story for the guys back home.

* * *

"Is this really necessary?" The man sitting across from me was stone-faced. I was tempted to ask about the eye patch but figured he was the wrong guy to joke around with. Instead I continued with a huff, "I'd better get a doctor's note or a—a waiver for my absence from work, at least." _First day on the job. It never fucking fails._

Without warning, a folder spiraled across the table and smacked into my forearm, causing me to hiss. As I glared daggers at the offending paper, a prickling of my awareness reminded me of the daemon I had waiting in the wings. Nesrasuas wasn't happy with my blood being spilt—oh, right, the paper cut. He could be a drama queen sometimes.

"This file," the mysterious man began, "holds stills from video footage of you standing in what looks to be some sort of ritual circle, bleeding all over the goddamn place. Now, tell me this doesn't look suspicious."

Without missing a beat, I parroted back to him in perfect monotone, "This doesn't look suspicious." But really, he was asking for it, abducting me in broad daylight for some bizarre interrogation and making me late for work.

Opening the manila folder, I flipped through several enlarged photographs of my attempts to summon various creatures and wards around the city. I wasn't going to be taking any chances with my new apartment, and I'd had homework to do before I walked into my new job. Apparently, the paranormal was deemed normal around here—and sitting at this table in the middle of a pristine, almost ruthlessly clinical room I could very well see it. Too bad I wasn't the only one looking out for the odd shit in town.

"You are Alexandrea Window," he went on, reading off of a packet I hadn't noticed him pick up, "age twenty-five, born in Peaceton, North Carolina. You've been trained by an underground academy in various forms of magic, graduating with a specialty in—" Here, he looked up from the papers to pin me to my chair with his good eye. "—"necromancy and daemonmancy." " He threw the papers onto the table. "Now can you see why I'm a little hesitant to let you walk out of here with just a slap on the wrist?"

I was still trying to process the fact that I had a dossier, let alone the fact that _he _had it.

Absentmindedly, I corrected him, "Win_dow._" People constantly pronounced it incorrectly; the last syllable sounded like "ow," or "down."

The man didn't seem fazed by my attitude. He looked like an unflappable kind of guy. If he hadn't shown such contempt for my profession—and had that sinister aura—I might have thought he was daemonic. He moved around the table to stand off to the side, watching me with his dark eyes. "Unfortunately, your employer isn't able to be bought or bargained with; he refuses to fire or transfer you. He's a stubborn SOB—and so I come to you."

_Pretty sure you brought me _to_ you, but I won't nitpick._

"If I really wanted to," he loudly interrupted my inner mocking, "I could have you charged with internet piracy. It's easy enough to do, and it would keep you behind bars for a time until I can figure out what the hell to do with you."

_Says the man dressed up as a pirate Morpheus._ Just who was this guy—CIA?

"_Or,_" I cut in, not liking this train of thought at all, "you could _not_ and say you did, while letting me go to work so I can get paid and then go away, never to be heard from again. Sound good?"

"Like hell it does." His bluntness startled me. "You're under Stark's influence, and that's an accident waiting to happen. So I've got a better idea." Folding his hands behind his back, he casually began explaining this "master plan" of his.

"How would you like to meet a hero, Ms. Window?"

_And here I was, actually trying to get some work done._ It really never failed.

* * *

_Lots of dragon-y love,  
-DL_


	2. no really, why?

**Title:** no really, why?  
**Word Count:** 968  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Original/Fandom:** Crossover; Fandom: Avengers (movie!verse), Original: Alex the necromancer series. **Now dubbed "on the job" series, after its prequel "first day on the job."**  
**Pairings (if any):** N/A  
**Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc):** Profanity, mild violence  
**Summary:** Understandably, her new employer is a bit curious about her occupation.

* * *

Some people ask me why I use the kind of magic I do. Normally with more tact than Mr. Stark, but his question was legitimate if blunt: "So, why do you run around, giving blood to demons and raising the dead?"

I was always a bit of a rebel.

Growing up, I didn't have a particularly bad childhood, but I had always felt judged regardless; my parents criticized everything I did, and peer pressure only made me even more determined to surprise everyone. The fact that I could use magic wasn't a big deal—lots of people in Peaceton could. My hometown was a closed community that either hoarded its mages or cast them out to special alcoves all over the world. Magicks concerning life and the elements were more commonly practiced, and most of the neighborhood kids were content to blindly follow the trend.

But I wanted something different.

Toying with the various fields of magic, I didn't choose my specialty until well into my advanced years of schooling. The funny thing was, it wasn't because people were shunning me—to be honest, I was shunning _them._ People annoy me. Blame my temper on my hair color, but my buttons were pretty easy to push, and I could cook up a mean brooding stare. The books on the darker arts were gathering dust on the shelves, and I figured if I could master these magicks then people would leave me the hell alone.

…If only life were that simple. Despite my best efforts, I still managed to attract some colleagues: Malcolm Heywood and Reginald "Reggie" Laroque, from my graduating class. They never really left me alone, and eventually I figured they weren't ever going to. I was like an interesting beetle two little boys had found, and they couldn't help poking me with a stick every once in a while. Bastards.

I chose necromancy because dead things were taboo even in the mage communities, regardless of the hesitant acceptance the Guilds had declared. Summoning skeletons wasn't so bad, but when you raised a fleshier creature that looked similar to a classmate's ancestor—I had quite a discipline record at my academy. (Malcolm tried to get me out of trouble, and Reggie liked to egg me on. We're a dysfunctional team at the best of times.)

My dabbling in daemonmancy was… quite an accident, actually.

I had only stepped into the field because I wanted to boast _two_ Masteries and needed something equally appalling to summon. Malcolm's bunnies and doves weren't really my thing, so I cracked open one of my instructor's old tomes and studied some pretty dark shit. I didn't quite realize how much trouble I was in until I tried to summon more than just imps and hellfire.

There are several levels of daemons you could pull from the realm of hellfire and chaos, and I of course wanted to summon the best of them. Looking for something really bad-ass, I chose a level four daemon rumored to be more powerful and cruel than anything summoned in the last hundred or so years. History records showed he had reveled in civil wars of desperate peoples, slain hundreds of Crusaders throughout the Late Middle Ages, and spread enough progeny to terrorize the globe.

Nesrasuas the Faithless.

He was to be my first example of just how royally I could fuck myself over with the dark arts. Quick thinking on my part was all that kept him from ripping my throat out. Long story short, I trapped the daemon on the mortal plane and tied him to my existence—at least until I could find a way to undo it. This landed me with a dangerous companion who hated all humans and, worst of all, ate all of my food without helping with the rent. What an asshole.

Said asshole wasn't all too fond of my new employer, which he demonstrated by materializing with a menacing snarl soon after Mr. Stark's question. To his credit, the man didn't look too surprised; he merely gave a smarmy grin before jerking a thumb at him. "Is that one of your pets?"

Worst thing to say to a daemon's face, ever. I immediately held out my arm and channeled as much willpower into my voice as I commanded, "_No._" The runes Nesrasuas was bound with thankfully did their jobs and kept him in place, although a low rumble permeated the air like summer thunder. Inhaling deeply to try to regain my calm, I looked the older man in the eye. "Mr. Stark, this is Nes. I'd recommend not pissing him off."

I don't know why his grin stretched at that remark. I was pretty sure I sounded dead serious.

"Sorry, sweetheart, it's my specialty." Turning on his heel, Mr. Stark started down the hallway, waving lazily for me to follow him. "I have some neat stuff for you to look at. Nessie can come along."

I repeated my command just as the daemon went to strike. "_Mistress,_" he almost pleaded, eyes boring into the back of the billionaire's head. He grunted when I shook my head, and then he scoffed. "I suppose I should thank you for not giving him my full name."

"What are friends for?" Sarcasm was my native tongue. Gripping his arm to keep him at my side—although he could cross the room before I even felt him move, so it was more for my benefit that I did so—I trailed after my new employer. Belatedly, I realized I had never really explained why I chose my fields of expertise to him. I had just fallen into memories.

_Oh, well._ I mentally shook the thoughts from my head, reasoning, _It's not really important. I'm sure he'll get me drunk enough to tell him later, anyway._

* * *

_Lots of dragon-y love,  
-DL_


End file.
